‘Your sister is definitely a bitch’
Poly skz x f!reader (seungmin central)
Synopsis: Your sister is convinced Seungmin deserves better than you—and that she should be the one to have him. But after spying on you, breaking into your flat and trying to expose your “affair” with Minho, she learns that Seungmin already knows everything—and still chooses you.
Cw: suggestive content
a/n: i deadass wrote this out like 5 times untill i was happy with it lmaoao, I’m actually wanting to do atleast another part so i’ll focus on some of the other boys as well, i just didn’t want it to feel to crowded and forcedd. Alsooo im so sorryy that it feels so smushed together tumblr block limit is the bane of my existence. AnywayyI hope you all enjoy <33
Wc: 18.5k
Part 1
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The cabinet had looked considerably less complicated in the woman’s hallway. She’d stood beside it with one hand resting on the top, talking about how her husband used to take it apart whenever they moved and put it back together in twenty minutes. Half an hour, maybe, if you hadn’t done it before. She’d said this while Changbin carried one of the glass doors out to the car and Jisung crouched beside a sandwich bag full of screws, nodding as though he’d already understood the entire construction from looking at it once. By the time she drove away, you were still feeling quite pleased with yourself. It was exactly the size you’d wanted. Dark wood, ribbed glass, brass handles. Your records had spent months in boxes against the wall, and the cabinet was supposed to be the thing that made that part of the flat finally look finished instead of somewhere you’d only recently moved into. An hour later, it was spread across the rug in twelve pieces and Jisung had stopped saying the woman’s husband was probably just good at DIY. “Don’t lift it yet, I haven’t—Changbin, wait, my hand’s still there.” “I’m not lifting it. I’m moving my knee because I’ve been sitting like this for twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, but the whole thing’s on your knee, so when you move—just, hang on.” Jisung lowered his face until his cheek was almost against the wood, trying to see beneath the rail he’d been holding in place. His hair fell into his eyes again. He blew at it, missed, and carried on feeling for the screw hole with one finger. “Move it back a little. No, your other way. That’s my way.” Changbin stared down at him. “You said back.” “I know, but from where I am—okay, don’t move. Just stay exactly like that for a second.”
Felix was kneeling beside the coffee table with the screws separated into careful rows, although the only instructions the seller had given you were six photographs printed from her phone. Four were too dark to see the fittings. One appeared to be upside down. The final picture showed the completed cabinet beside a vase of dried flowers and wasn’t helping anyone. You were holding a shelf across your lap because Jisung had handed it to you ten minutes earlier and hadn’t yet asked for it back. “Are you sure that’s the bottom?” you asked. Jisung didn’t look up. “Pretty sure.” “You were pretty sure the other one was the bottom.” “No, I said it could’ve been. That’s different.”
Felix glanced over at the panel beneath Changbin. “The other one has the holes for the feet.” Jisung’s hand stopped beneath the rail. Changbin looked down. “This one doesn’t?” Nobody answered immediately. Jisung slowly pulled his arm out, picked up one of the printed photographs and turned it towards the lamp. “No, because—wait. Is that a foot there, or is it just a mark on the rug?” You leaned towards him. “That’s absolutely a foot.” “Right. Okay.” He looked at what they’d already attached, then rubbed the back of his wrist across his forehead. “It’s fine. We can turn it over later.”
“You’ve screwed both sides into it.” “I know.” “You said it’d be obvious before we got this far.”
“It is obvious now.” You laughed despite yourself. Jisung looked up at the sound, his mouth twitching before he glanced back at the frame. One sleeve of his sweatshirt had fallen over his wrist. You reached across and pushed it up, folding it once above his elbow so it wouldn’t slip again. He went still while you fixed it, then caught your fingertips briefly when you passed the screwdriver back. “Thanks,” he murmured, already looking down again. Seungmin arrived carrying wine, a bag of cans and absolutely none of the practical things you’d asked him to bring. He let himself in, kicked off his shoes and stopped in the doorway. There was a long enough silence that you turned towards him. Seungmin looked at the cabinet pieces, then at you. “I thought you said it was assembled.”
“It was.” “So what happened?” “The woman took it apart.”
His eyes moved to Jisung, who was now removing a screw he’d only just put in. “Why?” Felix glanced up from the screws before answering. “So it would fit in the car,” Felix said. Seungmin stepped farther into the room. “Her car?” You answered before he could ask anything else. “She delivered it,” you told him. He looked at you properly then, waiting. You started laughing before he even said anything. “I know. We didn’t think about that.”
“No, because why would she take it apart before putting it into her own car if she already knew it fitted?” He set the wine on the coffee table, forcing Felix to drag two rows of screws out of the way. “Did she just not want it in one piece anymore?” “She said her husband always dismantled it when they moved.” “Maybe she hated him.”
Jisung lowered the screwdriver. “Can you help instead of making the situation feel worse?” “I’ve just got here. I’m still finding out what the situation is.” “The situation is that I need one of the middle-sized screws. Felix knows which one.”
Felix pointed to a row. Seungmin picked one up, examined it as though there might be a trick involved, then passed it over. For perhaps eight minutes, he genuinely tried. He held one end of the rail while Jisung fitted the bracket, found the small packet containing the feet and noticed that the glass doors had different hinges. Then he opened the wine, poured himself a glass and started reading the seller’s profile aloud instead. “She’s listed a dining table as ‘lightly used’, but there’s a burn through the middle of it.” You craned your neck to see his phone. “Maybe that’s why she photographed it with a tablecloth.” “She’s put ‘easy restoration project’.”
Felix was still sorting screws. “That usually means broken.” “The cabinet said ‘excellent condition’.” Everyone looked at the cabinet. One side was scratched. The base was upside down. Changbin still couldn’t take his hands off it. You took the glass Seungmin offered you. “Don’t show me anything else she’s selling. I don’t want to know.”
Minho came in from the kitchen when he heard the cork go back into the bottle. He had the tea towel over one shoulder and a small streak of flour or salt across the front of his shirt. “You started drinking?” “You were cooking,” Seungmin said, already reaching for another glass. “I’m still cooking.”
“That doesn’t stop you drinking.” Minho accepted the wine and came over to inspect the cabinet. He circled it once, crouched beside Jisung and pressed his fingers against the bracket. “This is backwards.” Jisung looked at him. “It isn’t.”
“It is.” “The photograph’s taken from this side.” Minho picked up the page and held it beside the panel. “No, it isn’t. Look at the door.” Jisung leaned closer. Felix shifted over to see. Changbin, still trapped behind the frame, tried to look upside down. “Oh,” Jisung said eventually.
Minho held his hand out for the screwdriver. Jisung gave it to him with less resistance than he’d given anyone else all evening. Minho removed the bracket, turned it and refitted it while drinking between screws. When he finished, he handed the tool back and sat on the floor beside your legs. “Both of them are backwards,” he added. Jisung stared at the matching bracket on the other side. “Could you have said that before you sat down?” “I thought you’d work it out.”
“I have been working it out for an hour.” “Mm.” You rested your fingers in Minho’s hair, lightly scratching near his scalp. He leaned into your knee without taking his eyes off the cabinet. A timer sounded from the kitchen. Minho didn’t move. It sounded again. You nudged his shoulder. “Is that important?”
“Probably.” He took another mouthful of wine, then caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it before getting up. “Don’t let them attach anything else, honey.” Jisung looked up as Minho started away. “We’re not waiting for you,” Jisung called after him. “You should.”
The cabinet was back on its side by the time Minho returned to the kitchen. You kept trying to help for a while. You held the rail, found a washer beneath the sofa and checked the listing photograph for any sign that the central shelf was supposed to tilt slightly. You were nearly certain it wasn’t, although by then you’d lost enough confidence that you didn’t insist. Seungmin had moved to the boxes of records. At first, he was only clearing them out of the way. Then he opened one and started going through it, sitting cross-legged with his drink balanced between his ankles. You noticed when he went back through the same stack a second time. “What are you looking for?” He held up one of the sleeves. “You don’t have any of our albums.”
“I do.” “Where?” “I have all your music on my phone.”
“That’s not what I said.” Seungmin looked back into the box, pushing several records aside. “You’ve got two copies of this, for some reason, but not one thing with any of us on it.” “That’s sooo not true. One of those was a present, and I literally do have one of yours.” His eyebrows lifted. “Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.” “That’s Jisung’s.” “It’s been beside my bed for months.”
From the rug, Jisung looked over. “Which one?” “The one you left on the floor.” “I thought I’d lost that.”
“You’ve slept next to it, like, twenty times.” Jisung frowned as though trying to picture your bedroom from memory. “I don’t really look at the floor.” “That’s because your clothes are usually covering it.”
He started laughing and the screwdriver slipped out of the screw head. Felix reached over to steady the bracket before it moved. “Okay, wait, why am I involved now?” Jisung asked, still laughing. “Seungmin’s the one judging your record collection.” “I’m not judging it. I’m just finding out that she’ll spend actual money on everybody except us.” “Oh my God, you’re being sooo dramatic. I didn’t even buy both copies of that one.”
“You kept them.” “Because I like it.” “More than anything we’ve released, apparently.”
You put the shelf down and got up. “Move.” Seungmin shifted enough for you to sit beside him, although you still had to push one of his knees out of the way. He immediately rested it against your thigh again. “There,” you said, pulling a record from near the bottom of the box. “You bought me this.” “That doesn’t help you.” “It proves I own something you chose.”
“It proves I have better taste than you.” “You chose it because you liked the cover.” “I chose it because you’d like the music.”
“You said, and I remember this very clearly, ‘It’ll look pretty in your room.’” Seungmin took the sleeve from you and looked at it. “Both things can be true.” An old receipt slipped out and landed across your knee. He picked it up before you could. “Thirty-eight pounds?” You leaned in, trying to read the faded ink. “That says thirteen.”
“It does not.” “Thirteen pounds eighty.” “There’s no decimal.”
“It’s faded.” “The rest of the receipt isn’t faded.” “You’re making that up because you want me to feel guilty.”
“I don’t need to. You paid nearly forty pounds for an album and then stole Jisung’s instead of buying ours.” “I didn’t steal it. He abandoned it.” Jisung, now half under the cabinet again, said, “I didn’t abandon it. I forgot where it was.”
“That’s the same thing after three months.” Minho came out carrying a spoon. “What’s the same thing?” Seungmin answered before you could. “She’s trying to claim Jisung’s album because she doesn’t own any of ours,” Seungmin said. You looked over your shoulder. “No, because he’s leaving out the entire part where I have your music, I have things you’ve given me, and I’m not buying albums from people who bring boxes of them into my flat whenever they visit.” Jisung looked over from the cabinet. “That happened once,” Jisung said.
“You left twelve.” “They were different versions.” “They were blocking the wardrobe.”
Minho put the spoon against your mouth before you could continue. “Taste.” You took the bite, still looking at Seungmin. He was smiling into his glass now, obviously far too pleased with himself. “It needs something,” you said. Minho’s hand stayed beneath your chin. “What?” “I don’t know. It’s nice, but it’s—wait, let me try again.”
He fed you another bite. Seungmin leaned in with his mouth open. Minho moved the spoon away without even looking at him. “You always say it’s fine.” “It usually is. Why are you asking people if you’ve already decided something’s wrong?” “I’m not asking you.”
“You put the spoon near my face.” “I was reaching past you.” Seungmin caught Minho’s wrist and stole what was left anyway. Minho stared at the empty spoon. “That was hers.”
You laughed and leaned back against the sofa. Minho sat behind you, one leg stretched alongside your hip, and took your glass when you offered it over your shoulder. Seungmin found something to put on. The first song began quietly enough that Felix asked him to turn it up. Changbin stopped holding the frame long enough to stretch, only to catch it again when it tilted. Felix started singing under his breath while he worked. Minho stayed on the floor behind you, his palm warm against your side, until something hissed from the kitchen and he got up halfway through a sentence. You tried helping again after that. Jisung asked you to pass him the measuring tape. You stood, took two steps and stopped when Seungmin called your name. He had another sleeve in his hand. “You’ve got three copies of this.” “I absolutely don’t.”
“There are two in here and one by the player.” “The one by the player is Minho’s.” Minho called from the kitchen, “No, it isn’t.”
“You said it was.” “I said I liked it.” You turned towards the kitchen. “You literally brought it here.”
“I carried it from your bedroom.” “That doesn’t sound right.” “It was under your bed.”
“That could’ve been Jisung’s too.” Jisung made a muffled sound from beneath the cabinet. “Why am I suddenly responsible for everything on your floor?” “Because most of it is yours.”
The measuring tape remained forgotten until Felix asked where you were going with it. You looked down at your empty hands. “Oh. I haven’t got it.” Seungmin found it beneath the edge of the sofa and opened it across the rug. Instead of passing it over, he pressed the metal end against your wrist. “What’re you doing?” “I wanted to know how long your arm is.”
You stared at him. “Why?” He extended the tape towards your elbow, eyes narrowing at the numbers. “I don’t know. I thought it was longer.” “That doesn’t even—give it here.” You reached for it. Seungmin pulled his hand back, and you leaned over him farther than you meant to. He caught your wrist when your knee slipped from the rug. The tape snapped shut between you. You nearly landed on top of the record player, but Seungmin hooked an arm around your waist and dragged you sideways instead. You grabbed his shoulder, taking him down with you. His glass tipped, although Changbin somehow caught it with one hand while still holding the cabinet with the other. “Thank you,” Seungmin said, already trying to get one of your wrists beneath his arm. Changbin put the glass on the table. “I don’t know why I did that.”
You twisted onto your side, laughing too hard to get any leverage. Seungmin caught you around the middle and pulled you back against him. “You started this,” you said, trying to push his knee away with your foot. “No, you threw yourself at me because you couldn’t wait five seconds.” “You were holding it away on purpose, and now you’ve lost it anyway.”
“It’s under the sofa. We know where it is.” “That’s not the same as helping.” Seungmin had both your wrists by then, although his grip kept slipping because he was laughing. You could probably have got free if you’d put any real effort into it. Instead, you looked across the room. “Binnieee, help me.” He was holding the cabinet upright while Felix adjusted something near the back. “With what?”
You tried to point at Seungmin with the hand trapped against his chest. “This.” Changbin glanced at Jisung. Jisung was reaching into the cabinet with his entire arm. “Please,” you added as Seungmin started pulling you farther across the rug. Changbin let go. The cabinet dropped with a heavy crack. Jisung ripped his arm out. “Fuck—Changbin, are you serious?” “She called me.”
“She’s wrestling Seungmin. I had my hand inside this.” Changbin was already coming over. He bent, wrapped one arm around Seungmin’s middle and lifted him cleanly away from you. Seungmin’s laugh broke into a startled sound as he grabbed Changbin’s shoulders. “No, wait—put me back. We weren’t finished.” “That was too quick,” you said, sitting up. Changbin looked between you. “You asked me to help.”
“I know, but you didn’t even give me a chance.” “A chance to do what?” Seungmin was still half hanging against Changbin’s side, trying to straighten his shirt with one hand. “She was nearly getting out.”
“You had both her wrists.” “Yeah, but she’d started using her legs.” Changbin stared at him for a moment, then set him down and walked back towards the cabinet without answering. “He’s annoyed now,” you murmured. Seungmin watched him go. “He ruined it and somehow he’s annoyed.”
Jisung pointed towards the frame. “Can somebody hold this before it lands on Felix?” Changbin went back to the cabinet, Seungmin caught your ankle before you could stand, and you both ended up sitting against the sofa, still breathless. You looked at the cabinet from the floor. One side sat higher than the other. The first door was leaning against the wall beneath a tea towel because Minho had said somebody was going to kick the glass. “It looks awful,” you said. Seungmin followed your gaze. “It looks fine from here.” “No, it doesn’t.”
“You’re too close.” You pushed yourself up, walked into the hallway and looked back. It looked worse. Seungmin waited. “Well?” “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’ll like it when it’s done.” “Do you genuinely believe that’s happening?” He looked at Jisung and Felix, who were lying on opposite sides of the frame trying to reach the same hinge. “Not really.”
You came back and dropped onto the sofa. Seungmin stretched his legs over your lap before you were properly settled. The loose shelf beside you had become a table for the wine, Minho’s phone and two half-empty cans. You looked at it for several seconds, then put your glass down with the others. “At least this part’s useful.” “You could just keep it like that.” “I’ve paid for a very expensive plank.”
“It’s better than the cabinet.” You started laughing again, leaning back until your head rested against the sofa. Your phone lit beneath the edge of the cushion. You saw your sister’s name and enough of the message before you turned it over. I know you said I was reading too much into that picture from Mum’s, but Seungmin looked embarrassed. He’s probably too soft to tell you, and I just think— You pushed the phone farther beneath the cushion. Seungmin was complaining about the order of the records now and hadn’t noticed. He’d found one you’d apparently filed in the wrong box and was explaining why it didn’t belong there while you drank enough wine to stop caring where any of them lived.
Minho came back and stole his phone from beneath the bottle. He sat on the arm of the sofa for a while, one hand resting on the back of your neck as he listened to Seungmin talk. Then he got drawn into a conversation with Changbin about where the cabinet was supposed to stand, moved it fifteen centimetres to the left and decided you’d been right the first time. By then, nobody could remember where it had originally been. Jisung had one drink over the course of the evening, taking small mouthfuls whenever Felix stopped to check a fitting. The warmth showed more in his face than his behaviour. He was still focused enough to finish things, but each time he looked towards the sofa it took him longer to look away. He came over once to retrieve his glass and stopped beside your knee. There was pencil across his cheek again. You rubbed at it with your thumb. “You’re making it worse,” he murmured. “You’ve got it in your hair now.”
“Minho tried using a wet finger.” “What was wrong with that?” “He’d just touched the sauce.”
You laughed, still wiping at the mark. Jisung caught your wrist, kissed the centre of your palm and leaned down for your mouth. The kiss barely lasted before Felix said his name from the rug. Jisung stayed close for another second. “I really don’t want to go back.” “You’re nearly done.” “You’ve been saying that for ages.”
“I haven’t. Felix has.” “That’s worse because I trust him.” He kissed you again, quick and warm, then went back to the cabinet with his glass still in his hand. Seungmin watched him crouch beside Felix. “He’s going to give up.”
“He’s too stubborn.” “No, look at him. He’s not even listening.” Jisung was holding a hinge while Felix explained something, but his eyes had drifted towards the sofa again. You smiled when he caught you looking. He lowered his head, took another drink and made Felix repeat whatever he’d just said. Seungmin turned towards you. His arm had been stretched behind your shoulders for long enough that you were already tucked against his side. “You know, this still doesn’t make up for the albums.”
You groaned. “Oh my God, you’re still going.” “I’ve had time to think about it.” “That’s never good.”
“I’m just saying, you’ve got an entire box of records from people you’ve never met, and then ours is apparently too much commitment.” “That’s soo not what I said. I said I already have all the music, you lot leave things here anyway, and I’m not spending money just so you can come over and make fun of which photocard I got.” “I wouldn’t make fun of you.”
“You absolutely would.” “I’d just ask why you picked the version where my hair looked bad.” “You’d say that about every version.”
“No, there were two good ones.” You turned towards him. “Name them.” Seungmin opened his mouth, then seemed to reconsider whatever he’d been about to say. You kissed him before he found an answer. His laugh caught against your lips, one hand sliding from the back of the sofa to your waist as you shifted closer. You’d meant it as a quick interruption, mostly because he’d been talking for too long and you knew it. Seungmin followed when you pulled away. Your leg slipped over his lap. His fingers moved beneath the back of your top, warm against your skin, and the next kiss settled more slowly.
You could still hear Felix and Jisung talking over the music. Something moved in the kitchen. Changbin walked past carrying one of the loose panels. None of it disappeared, but Seungmin’s mouth was soft from the wine and his thumb had started tracing the same small line against your side. You drew back enough to breathe. He came with you, lips brushing the corner of your mouth before finding it again. The forgotten conversation returned somewhere between kisses. “You still haven’t said which versions,” you murmured. “I’m not discussing that while you’re doing this.” “You started it.”
“I know. I’ve changed my mind.” You smiled into his mouth. The kissing stayed loose, interrupted by laughter and the record changing beneath the needle. Seungmin’s fingers slid into your hair when you leaned farther over him. You caught his jaw and kissed him again, slower this time, until his hand tightened beneath your shirt. Across the room, Felix asked Jisung for the screwdriver twice. Jisung didn’t answer until Changbin touched his shoulder. The first door finally closed without scraping. Felix opened it again, adjusted the hinge and closed it once more. Jisung fitted the second while Changbin held the frame. Minho came out of the kitchen and stood behind them with his glass, offering unasked-for advice until Jisung told him he’d lost the right to criticise after abandoning them for dinner. Minho kissed the back of Jisung’s head and kept talking. Eventually, both doors stayed shut. The handles weren’t quite level. The cabinet rocked faintly when Jisung took his hand away. You saw both things. You drank what was left in your glass and said nothing.
Jisung stayed crouched in front of it, opening one door, closing it, then trying the other as though it might behave differently if nobody watched. Felix looked underneath. “We still need to put the feet on.” Jisung sat back on his heels. “Tomorrow.” “It’s going to scratch the floor.” “Put something under it. I can’t—no, I’m actually done. I don’t even want to see the feet again tonight.”
Felix considered the small packet on the table, then tucked it safely beneath the instructions. Jisung got up. You were still half across Seungmin, one hand resting near the back of his neck. Jisung came over and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, his knee touching yours. He waited until you looked at him. “D’you wanna come to bed with me?” His voice was quiet enough that it sat beneath the music. There was nothing demanding in it. He just looked tired, warm from the drink and far too hopeful for someone trying to act casual. You smiled. “Yeah.” Seungmin kissed you once more before moving his hand from beneath your top. He shifted his legs out of the way, fingertips brushing yours as you sat up. Jisung didn’t take your hand until you were already standing. The kitchen smelled warm and spicy behind you. Minho was tasting the sauce again. Felix and Changbin were trying to move the cabinet without letting its unfinished base touch the floor. Jisung led you down the hallway. He waited until the bedroom door closed before kissing you.
His hands found your waist straight away, drawing you into him with all the impatience he’d spent the last hour swallowing. His mouth was warm from the drink, the kiss messy for the first second because he’d moved too quickly. You caught his hair and pulled him back just enough to look at him. Jisung’s eyes dropped to your mouth. “I’ve been waiting forever.” “I know baby.” You giggle You kissed him again and walked him backwards. He followed without looking, hands sliding beneath your top as the backs of his knees found the mattress. He sat when you pressed lightly against his chest, gazing up at you while you moved between his legs. You climbed onto his lap. Jisung breathed out sharply, hands closing around your hips as your weight settled over him. He was already hard beneath you, hips lifting before he seemed to realise he’d moved. You tightened your fingers in his hair. His head tipped back with a soft whine, throat opening beneath your mouth. “Again,” he breathed.
You pulled once more, then kissed beneath his jaw. Jisung’s hand started higher under your shirt. You caught his wrist and returned it to your waist without stopping the kiss. He left it there, fingers flexing against you. You moved slowly over him. His lips parted against your neck, breath catching as he pressed upwards to meet you. When he tried to hurry, your hand in his hair slowed him again. “Please,” he murmured, and you felt the word against your skin. You kissed lower, leaving the first mark beneath his jaw where his collar would nearly cover it. Jisung made another quiet sound and tilted his head farther for you. The second was darker, just visible above the neckline of his sweatshirt when he shifted. Someone knocked. Jisung went completely still beneath you. A second knock came before either of you moved. Minho spoke through the door. “Honey, your sister’s here. Something about a certificate.” Jisung dropped his forehead against your shoulder. “No.” You closed your eyes. “I know.”
“We’ve literally just—” “I know.” “Don’t answer.”
“She’ll stay there.” “Let her.” You started to move. His arms tightened around your waist for one last second before he let you stand. Jisung stayed on the bed while you fixed your top. His hair was a mess from your hands, his lips swollen and his breathing still uneven. He looked down at himself and groaned quietly. “I’m not going out there.”
“I wasn’t asking you to.” “Good.” You bent and kissed his forehead before leaving him to recover. Minho was waiting farther down the hallway. He’d turned the heat down in the kitchen and had your phone in one hand. “She messaged again.”
You looked at the screen. I’m nearby anyway. I’ll just come up. “She’s at the front door?” “I didn’t let her farther than the mat.” Minho tucked the phone into your hand, then smoothed the back of your top where it had caught underneath itself. “You okay?” “Annoyed.”
“Mm.” He kissed your temple. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” Your sister was standing just inside the open doorway with her coat still fastened and a folder held against her chest. Her expression was pleasant in the careful way that meant she was already prepared to be offended. “Sorry, I know it’s late. Mum was asking about that old county music certificate and I said I’d collect it because I was nearby anyway. I did message.” “You told me you were coming after you’d already decided.”
“Oh, don’t make it into a thing. I’m not staying.” Her smile widened slightly as she glanced past you into the flat. “It sounds like you’ve got everybody here.” “They helped me build something.” “That’s nice.” Her eyes moved towards the living room, where Changbin and Felix were still shifting the cabinet while Seungmin sat on the sofa, turning over the record. “You do keep them busy.”
You looked at her. She adjusted the folder in her hands, smile still there. “I meant it’s sweet. They’re always doing things for you.” “Which certificate does Mum want?” “The cream one with the gold seal.”
“They’re nearly all cream and most of them have gold seals. What year?” “I don’t know. She said you’d know which one mattered.” “She can tell me tomorrow.”
Your sister sighed softly, as though you’d made an incredibly simple favour exhausting. “I was trying to save her having to come over. She’s already got enough to deal with, and I thought it would take two minutes, but it’s fine. I can tell her you didn’t know where it was.” “I know where the box is. I don’t know which one you’re asking for.” “Yes, I heard you.” Her voice stayed light. “You don’t need to get defensive.”
You stared at her for a second. She smiled again and looked over your shoulder. “Is Seungmin all right? He looks a little… I don’t know. Quiet”. “He’s listening to music.” “I know. I didn’t mean right now.” She tilted her head, lowering her voice as though she were sharing something kind. “He’s very understanding, isn’t he? Sometimes I wonder whether people take advantage of that because he doesn’t like making a fuss.”
“Stop deciding what he feels.” “I’m not deciding anything. God, you’re so sensitive whenever I mention him.” She gave a small laugh, almost affectionate. “I just think he’s lovely. You know that.” The bedroom door opened behind you. Your sister’s eyes shifted immediately. Jisung came out rubbing one hand over the back of his neck. He’d straightened his clothes, although not particularly well. His hair was still pushed up on one side, his lips visibly swollen, and the mark beneath his jaw had already begun to darken. Another showed above the loose collar of his sweatshirt when he turned towards the living room. He glanced at your sister, then at you. “I left my drink out here.”
“It’s by the sofa.” Jisung nodded and started past. The collar of his sweatshirt had folded underneath itself at the back. You caught his sleeve, pulling him to a stop, then freed the fabric and smoothed it down before letting him go. Jisung stood easily beneath your hands, attention already drifting towards the glass on the coffee table. Your sister lifted her phone. The movement was quick, half hidden behind the folder, but you saw the camera angled towards you. “Did you just take a picture?” She lowered the phone. “No.”
“You did.” “I was checking whether Mum had replied.” “With your camera open?”
Her expression shifted into mild disbelief. “Oh my God, I didn’t deliberately take a photograph of you. It opened when I picked it up.” “Show me.” “I’m not handing you my phone.” She laughed again, quieter this time, as though you were embarrassing yourself. “I don’t know why you’re acting like there’s something here worth photographing.”
Jisung had stopped a few steps away. He looked from her phone to you but didn’t come back. Your sister’s eyes moved over the marks on his neck again, then returned to your face. Her smile became almost tender. “Aw. You’re always fussing over them.” You heard exactly what sat beneath it. Jisung, already turning towards his drink, didn’t react. “I thought it was sweet,” she added when you didn’t answer. “You’ve got them all letting you look after them. Even the ones you wouldn’t expect.” Her eyes flicked briefly towards the sofa. Seungmin was still where he’d been, one knee tucked beneath him while he spoke to Felix about the record. He hadn’t noticed the phone or the comment. “Delete the picture,” you said.
“There isn’t one.” “I watched you take it.” Her pleasant expression tightened around the edges. “Fine. Maybe I took one accidentally. You were standing there together and I thought—actually, never mind. I don’t need to explain every little thing when I was only trying to help Mum.”
She unlocked the phone, tapped the screen and held it towards you for barely a second. “There. Gone. Happy?” You didn’t trust her, but the folder was still empty, dinner was cooling and you were done letting her stretch the evening any farther. “Ask Mum what year she wants. I’ll take it to her tomorrow.” “I can collect it.”
“I’ll take it.” Your sister looked at you for a moment, then gave another small sigh. “Okay. Whatever’s easiest for you.” She stepped backwards into the hallway. Before leaving, she glanced past you one more time—at Jisung picking up his glass, at Minho moving between the kitchen and the table, at Seungmin curled into the sofa as though none of this required his permission. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Have a nice night,” she said sweetly. “Try not to keep them all too busy.”
You closed the door before she could soften it into another supposed joke. The lock clicked beneath your hand. For several seconds, you stayed there, listening to the lift doors open farther down the corridor. Minho appeared beside you without crowding, his fingers touching lightly between your shoulders. “She gone?” “Yeah.” “Good.”
He returned to the kitchen when you didn’t say more. Jisung was standing near the living-room doorway with his drink untouched in one hand. The marks on his neck looked darker beneath the light now. He waited until you looked at him. “Do you still wanna come back?” There was a little uncertainty beneath the question, the earlier urgency softened by the interruption. He didn’t move towards you or assume the answer. You crossed the space between you and took his free hand. “Yeah. Come on.” Jisung set the glass down without drinking from it. This time, you pulled him towards the hallway. The music followed you as far as the bedroom door. ౨ৎ The music reached you before the lift doors opened.
It stopped halfway through whatever section they were working on, somebody called something you couldn’t make out, and then the same bass line started again while you were still walking down the corridor. The practice-room door had been left open. You slowed when you reached it, partly because you didn’t want to walk straight through the middle of rehearsal and partly because it was easier to stand there for a second and work out what you were looking at. Six of them were in the room. Felix was sitting beside the speaker with one shoe off, rubbing at the back of his ankle while Jeongin drank water near the mirror. Hyunjin was still marking through something despite the music having stopped again, watching his own reflection while Changbin explained where he thought he was supposed to cross. Minho stood a little further back with his hands on his hips, listening. You understood enough of what they were saying to know it was about spacing. After that, they lost you. You’d picked up bits over the years because it was impossible not to when you were dating eight people who could turn a conversation about dinner into a discussion about breath support, timing or whether somebody had been half a beat late. You knew what a count was. You knew what they meant when they said they were marking something. You could usually tell when a formation looked crowded, although you couldn’t necessarily tell anyone why. You were much better at knowing when they were tired. That part was obvious. Seungmin noticed you while reaching for his water. His whole face lit up.
He sat up quickly enough that the bottle tipped against his knee, caught it before it fell and immediately waved at you with his other hand. Felix followed his gaze, smiled and lifted his hand too. You waved back at both of them, and then Seungmin pointed at the empty space beside him. You stayed where you were for another few seconds because somebody was crossing in front of the door. Seungmin patted the floor twice. You laughed and went over. “You came upstairs,” he said as soon as you were close enough, catching your wrist before you’d even put your bag somewhere sensible. “I thought you were going to wait downstairs.” “I was, and then I heard all this.” “That’s a terrible reason to come closer.”
“Hi, Seungminnie.” “Hi.” He smiled again, softer this time, and linked his arm through yours as you sat beside him. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve come down for a minute.” “You were working.”
“They’d survive.” You looked at him properly. His face was flushed from rehearsal, hair damp around his forehead and standing up slightly at the back. You reached over and pressed the worst piece down. Seungmin held completely still while you did it. The hair sprang up again as soon as you moved your hand. His eyes narrowed. “It didn’t work.” “It did for a second.”
“You’re smiling.” “That doesn’t mean anything.” “It means I look stupid.”
“You don’t look stupid.” He made a small dissatisfied sound but didn’t bother trying to check the mirror. Instead he settled back against the wall, his arm still linked with yours, and you rested your head against his shoulder while Changbin started explaining the crossing again. “What are they changing?” you asked after a minute. Seungmin tipped his bottle towards the middle of the room. “The bit after the second chorus. It looked cramped when we watched it back. We’ve moved Changbin slightly and changed where Hyunjin opens out.” You watched for a few seconds. “Is that why they keep doing the same bit?”
“Mhm.” “I thought the song might just be repetitive.” Seungmin looked down at you. You smiled into his shoulder. He laughed quietly, then went back to watching rehearsal. “You’d tell us if it was bad, right?”
“I always tell you when something’s bad.” “That’s true.” “And I’m very supportive about it.”
“That part is debatable.” You started lifting your head. Seungmin immediately tightened his linked arm and kept you where you were. You didn’t say anything about it. Neither did he. Minho called them back into place a moment later. Seungmin reluctantly untangled himself, squeezing your wrist once before standing. Jeongin passed close enough on his way back to say hi and briefly squeeze your shoulder, then they were moving again. This time you tried to watch the whole thing. Felix rejoined. Changbin crossed behind Hyunjin. Jeongin moved through the centre while Seungmin came forward on the left. He glanced towards you as he passed, and you gave him a small thumbs-up. His mouth twitched. Minho noticed you a few seconds later. His attention caught in the mirror. He didn’t stop or miss anything, but something in his face softened when your eyes met. You lifted your fingers in a little wave. He looked away before the next count.
You watched the section twice more. By the final run, you had a vague idea of what they’d been changing, although if anyone had asked you to explain it you would’ve been in trouble. When rehearsal finally stopped, the room loosened all at once. Hyunjin dropped down beside Felix. Changbin headed for the air-conditioning vent and stood beneath it with the front of his shirt pulled away from his chest. Jeongin disappeared in search of his phone. Seungmin collected his water and came straight back over to you. “I watched that one properly,” you told him as he sat down. “Did you?” “Yes.”
He waited. You knew exactly what he was waiting for. “You looked good.” “That wasn’t—” He stopped himself, smiled despite trying not to, then took a drink. “Fine. I’ll take it.” You linked your arm through his again. “You should. I don’t compliment just anyone.”
“You compliment Felix every time he changes his hair.” “Because he never changes it. I had to say something.” Seungmin gave you a look but let it go. Minho came over with a towel around his neck. Up close, he was somehow even sweatier than he had looked from across the room. His shirt was dark through the centre of his chest and at the back, his hair damp enough that a strand had stuck to his temple. You pinched the front of his shirt between two fingers and pulled it away from him. “Jesus. That’s disgusting.”
“I’ve been dancing for three hours.” “I know. I can see it.” Minho looked down at your hand still holding his shirt. “Then stop touching me.”
You let go of the fabric, caught him by the back of the neck instead and pulled him down for a kiss. He made a quiet sound against your mouth, one hand settling at your waist. It wasn’t long, but he stayed close when you pulled away. You wiped your cheek where his damp hair had touched it. “Still gross.” “You did that yourself.” “I was being supportive.”
“You could support me from over there.” Seungmin made a small amused noise beside you. Minho looked at you again. “How was it?” “Good. Really good, actually.” You glanced towards the middle of the room, where Hyunjin and Changbin were still discussing something while Felix lay flat on his back. “The last few looked better than when I first came in. It wasn’t as… bunched up.”
Minho nodded straight away. “That was the spacing. Changbin was coming across too early, so Hyunjin didn’t have enough room when he opened out. We moved him back half a count, but then Seungmin was having to compensate on the other side, so we changed where he was landing and—” You kept looking at him. You were listening. You just weren’t following anymore. Minho continued for another few seconds, apparently unaware that somewhere around half a count the words had stopped attaching themselves to anything in your head. Slowly, you turned your face towards Seungmin. He took one look at you and folded over laughing. “Don’t,” you muttered. That only made it worse. Minho stopped. “What?” You looked back at him. “I was with you until half a count.”
“That was almost the beginning.” “I know.” Seungmin was laughing into your shoulder now, which was deeply unhelpful. “I understood the bit about it looking less crowded,” you added.
“That was your bit.” “Exactly. We should’ve stayed there.” Minho’s mouth pulled into a smile. “You asked what we changed.”
“No, I said it looked good.” “You were interested.” “I am interested. I just don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
That made Seungmin laugh again, though quieter this time. Minho reached down and briefly squeezed the back of your neck. “It looked better.” “Thank you. That’s all I needed.” “You could’ve said that thirty seconds ago,” Seungmin said. You leaned more of your weight against him. “I was trying to be a good girlfriend.”
“You are. Just not a useful choreographer.” “I’ve never claimed to be.” Changbin called from across the room, “Why are you talking about choreography like anyone asked you?”
You looked over at him. “Aw, thanks, Binnie.” Changbin looked over, entirely unimpressed. “Anytime.” He shook his head and went back to his phone. Minho bent and kissed your forehead. “Give me fifteen minutes, honey.” “You told me ten.”
“We ran over.” “You were already done when I got here.” “We clearly weren’t.”
You looked towards the others, most of whom were now either sitting or lying on the floor. “They look pretty done.” Minho followed your gaze. “Fifteen.” You let him go. Seungmin stayed beside you for another few minutes while the room gradually emptied. The conversation wandered away from rehearsal completely. He asked what you’d done that afternoon, and you told him about losing twenty minutes of your life because you’d gone into a shop for one thing and then couldn’t remember what the one thing had been. “You still didn’t remember?” “No. I bought toothpaste because I was embarrassed to leave with nothing.”
Seungmin laughed. “You might’ve needed toothpaste.” “I bought three tubes last week.” “Why?”
“They were on offer.” He considered that. “So now you have four.” He shook his head, smiling, and leaned his temple briefly against yours. When Minho finally disappeared towards the changing rooms, Seungmin looked after him, then back at you. “He was in a bad mood before you came.” “You said.”
“No, I mean properly. Not angry. Just tired and annoyed because they’d been stuck on that part forever.” You looked towards the door Minho had gone through. “He seems okay.” “He is now.”
There wasn’t any teasing in the way Seungmin said it. You squeezed his arm. He glanced down at your joined hands and then changed the subject, telling you that Felix had tried to convince everyone to order food earlier and had somehow ended up with four different menus open before anyone agreed on anything. By the time Minho reappeared, the conversation had turned into Seungmin complaining that nobody ever wanted the same thing until somebody else had already ordered. “You’re still here,” Minho said. Seungmin looked at him. “She likes me.” “I know.” Minho had changed into a black button-up and dark trousers, his hair still damp at the ends but no longer plastered to his forehead. He looked tired now that he wasn’t working. You stood and kissed Seungmin’s cheek before letting go of his arm. “Bye, Minnie.”
His face brightened again. “Bye. Have fun.” On the way out, you ended up stopping outside Chan and Jisung’s studio because Jisung opened the door just as you were passing. “Oh.” His face brightened. “You’re still here.” “Leaving now.”
“Wait, come listen to something before you go.” You immediately shook your head. “It’ll take ten seconds.” “You said that last time.”
Jisung paused with one hand still on the door. “That did take longer than expected.” “Forty minutes, Hannie.” “You kept talking over the bit I needed you to hear.”
“I was asking whether I could leave.” Chan appeared behind him, looking amused and tired. “She’s on a date. Let her go.” “I just want to know if she hears it too.”
“Hears what?” you asked. “There’s something under the vocal. I can hear it every time the line starts, and he says it’s fine.” Chan leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “I said we can fix it tomorrow.”
“That’s not the same as fine.” You looked between them. “I’m probably the worst person in this building to ask.” “That’s why I’m asking you. If you hear it, then it’s definitely obvious.”
You stared at him. Jisung realised what he’d said. “Not because you’re stupid.” “Great recovery.” “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.” Chan laughed and caught the back of Jisung’s sweatshirt before he could try dragging you inside. “Go. I’ll deal with him.” Jisung looked past you towards Minho. “Are you getting food?” You glanced towards Minho before answering. “Probably,” you said.
“Can you bring me something?” Chan started closing the door. “Goodnight.” You called before the door could close. “Hannie,” you called. Jisung’s head appeared through the narrowing gap. “I’ll see what there is.”
His smile arrived instantly. “Love you.” “Love you too.” The door shut. Minho’s hand settled at the small of your back as you headed towards the lift. The lift arrived. Once the doors closed, the noise from the corridor disappeared so quickly it felt strange. Minho leaned back against the mirrored wall. Without rehearsal around him, you could see the tiredness more clearly. He rolled his right shoulder once, small enough that you might not have noticed if you hadn’t been looking at him. You reached over and took his hand. His fingers threaded through yours automatically. “Long day?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his thumb along the side of your hand. “We kept fixing one thing and then finding something else.” “You could’ve cancelled tonight.” Minho turned his head. “Did you want me to?”
“No. I would’ve understood.” “I know.” He looked down at your hands for a moment. The lift hummed beneath you. “I wanted to come home with you.”
There wasn’t anything to tease in that. You lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. Minho turned your wrist before you could lower it and pressed his mouth briefly to your palm. The doors opened. ౨ৎ You’d both said you would get something easy on the way home. You had meant food somebody else had made already. Minho had apparently meant food that required less effort than usual. You found him in the refrigerated aisle reading the back of a packet. “That says marinate.” “It says ten minutes.” “That’s how it starts.”
He glanced over. “You say ten minutes, then while that’s sitting there you decide we might as well make something else, and then I don’t see you again until there are five bowls in the sink.” Minho looked at the packet once more. “I want you sitting down tonight,” you added. “That’s literally the point.” He put it back. “Thank you.”
“We can still get noodles.” “Noodles are fine.” “And dumplings?”
“Obviously.” He took the basket from you and started walking again. The conversation moved on before either of you could turn dinner into an argument. You told him about a message you’d received earlier from your mother asking whether you still had a cardigan you were almost certain had disappeared three house moves ago. Minho listened while comparing two packets of noodles, occasionally making small noises to show he was still following. “She swears I left it at hers,” you said. “I haven’t even seen that cardigan since university.” “You probably did leave it there.”
“Why are you taking her side?” “I’ve seen your cupboards.” “That has nothing to do with it.”
“It has a lot to do with it.” You watched him put one packet back and choose the other. “My cupboards are organised.” Minho looked at you. “Mostly.”
He smiled and dropped the noodles into the basket. By the time you reached the next aisle, he had added yoghurt, strawberries and the juice you liked without asking. You noticed but didn’t comment immediately. It wasn’t until he picked up a cereal you actually liked instead of the one already sitting in your cupboard that you looked over. “You’re replacing my food now?” “I’m buying breakfast.” The answer was so matter-of-fact that you smiled. “So you are staying.”
Minho looked genuinely confused. “I thought I was.” “Good.” That was all there was to it. You carried on down the aisle. A few minutes later, you spotted a small cake tucked beneath the noodles. You lifted it out. “You don’t even like this one.”
“You do.” You looked at him. Minho was already comparing two bottles of sauce. You put the cake back. At the checkout, you took your phone out while he unloaded the basket. “I’m paying.” Minho glanced at you. “Okay.”
You should’ve known. You stood close to the card reader while the cashier scanned everything. When the total appeared, you moved your phone towards it. Minho’s watch reached it first. The machine beeped. You stared at his wrist. He started packing the bags. “You’re such an asshole.” “You were too slow.” “I was literally holding my phone over it.”
“You hesitated.” “I did not hesitate.” Minho put the strawberries on top of one bag, clearly more interested in not bruising them than in defending himself. Minho handed you the cake. “Keep that flat.”
“You’re ignoring me.” “I heard you.” He picked up the heavier bag and headed for the doors. ౨ৎ The cabinet was still standing when you got home. You checked before you even took your shoes off. One handle remained slightly higher than the other. A piece of folded cardboard was wedged beneath the left side, and the middle shelf had already developed a suspicious- looking dip beneath your records. Minho followed your gaze. “Don’t.”
Minho walked over and pressed it shut with one finger. The cabinet rocked. You pointed at him. “See?” He looked at the cabinet, then at you. “That’s not because I touched it.” “It was fine before.” “It’s held up with cardboard.”
“Exactly. Delicate. Leave it.” Minho opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he was about to say and carried the shopping into the kitchen. You followed him. Dinner stayed simple. Actually simple, by Minho’s standards. You put music on from the living room while he started the noodles and you dealt with the vegetables. For a while you talked about nothing important: whether the strawberries would still be good tomorrow, somebody in the building who had apparently started leaving their shoes outside your door, a video Felix had sent the group chat earlier that you hadn’t watched yet. Then you remembered something you’d meant to ask Minho days ago. “Did you ever call your mom back about that thing with the cupboard?”
He glanced over from the stove. “What cupboard?” “The one she wanted moving.” “That was my aunt.”
“Oh.” You paused with the knife halfway through a mushroom. “Did you call your aunt?” “Yeah.” “And?”
“She moved it herself.” You looked up. “Why did she call you, then?” “She wanted me to tell her whether it would fit.”
“Did it?” “No.” You waited. Minho kept stirring the noodles. You started laughing. Minho looked over, already smiling because he knew exactly why. “Why are families like this?”
“She said she could make it work.” “Did she?” “She cut part of the shelf.”
That made you laugh harder. Somewhere in the middle of it, Minho drifted closer to inspect what you were cutting. You noticed his hand appear beside yours, quietly pulling one of the mushroom pieces towards himself. You stopped. Minho cut it in half. “Did you seriously just recut my mushroom?” “It was huge.” “It was fine.”
He gave you the sort of look that said it very obviously had not been fine and reached towards another one. “Nope.” You stole it first and ate it raw. Minho stared at you for a second. “You’re ridiculous.” You were still chewing when you bumped your hip into his and reached past him for the sauce. He moved over to let you in, laughing under his breath, and mercifully left the rest of your mushrooms alone. They ate on the floor because the coffee table was still covered with leftover cabinet screws and an instruction sheet somebody had drawn an angry face on. Minho sat with his back against the sofa, one knee bent. You settled beside him close enough that your shoulder stayed against his. The food was good.
You told him so, which resulted in him quietly pushing the last dumpling from his bowl into yours without comment. You looked down at it. “You wanted that.” “I’m full.” “You ate faster than me.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m still hungry.” You picked the dumpling up and held it towards him. Minho looked at it, then at you. “Half.” He leaned forward and bit half from your chopsticks. You ate the rest. For a while, the conversation wandered through whatever came to mind. Minho told you that Jeongin had almost walked into a camera stand earlier because he’d been looking at his phone. You told him about the dog in the shopping bag from work, the woman insisting with her entire face that she had no idea where the barking was coming from. “You didn’t say anything?” Minho asked.
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Excuse me, your handbag has a respiratory system’?” He laughed, head dropping briefly. “There were six of us in the lift,” you continued. “Nobody looked at her. The dog barked twice, and we all stared at the numbers like our lives depended on getting to the eighth floor.” Minho shook his head. “You should’ve asked what breed the bag was.” You looked at him. He was already smiling into his bowl. “That was terrible.”
“I know.” You leaned into his shoulder anyway. After dinner, Minho retrieved his phone from the counter and pulled up the rehearsal video. You groaned when you saw it. “I’m not testing you.” “You say that now.”
“I want to see something.” You moved onto the sofa and put your legs over his lap while he found the right clip. He showed you the first version, then one from later in rehearsal. You watched both properly. “The second one looks better.” Minho scrubbed back. “Why?” You hesitated. “It just… doesn’t look as cramped. Everybody has more space.”
He nodded. “That’s what we were fixing.” “Great. I’ve learned something.” “You already said that at practice.”
“Yeah, but now I know why.” Minho played it again, then started explaining what they had changed. This time, he stopped himself halfway through the technical part and glanced at you. You smiled. “Thank you.” “I saw your face.”
“Good.” He laughed softly and put the phone down. As he did, his right shoulder rolled in a small, uncomfortable movement. You’d noticed it in the lift. You reached over and pressed your thumb into the muscle near his neck. Minho flinched. “Shit.” You frowned. “That bad?.” “You surprised me.”
“You’ve been doing that all night.” “Doing what?” “That.” You copied the little shoulder roll. “Every few minutes.”
Minho looked down at his own shoulder as though he hadn’t realised it was visible. “It’s been tight since yesterday.” “Yesterday?” “It’s fine.”
You pressed again, more gently. His entire shoulder tensed. “Yeah, that looks very fine.” Minho didn’t answer. You moved your legs away from his lap and shifted behind him. “Turn around.” He gave you a look. “Come on. I’m not doing anything weird. I’m trying to help.”
“I know.” “Then move.” Minho sighed, but he did. He sat on the floor between your knees, back against the sofa. You put your hands on his shoulders and immediately understood why he’d been moving strangely. “Jesus.”
“What?” “This is horrible.” “Very comforting.”
“You know what I mean.” You worked your thumbs slowly into the muscle above his shoulder blade. His head tipped forward, hands settling loosely around your ankles. For a few minutes, you barely spoke. Traffic moved somewhere below the windows. Each time you found the worst part of the knot, Minho’s fingers tightened briefly around your ankle. “Too hard?” “No.”
“You sure?” “Keep going.” His voice had gone quieter. You did. After another minute, you moved his hair out of the way so you could reach higher. His shirt kept bunching beneath your hands. “This is annoying me.”
“My shoulder?” “Your shirt.” Minho glanced back over one shoulder. “I can’t get to anything properly.”
He smiled slightly. “Convenient.” “Oh, shut up.” You tugged the collar. “Take it off or suffer.” Minho undid several buttons and slid the shirt away from his shoulders, leaving it hanging loosely around his arms. You went back to work. His skin was warm beneath your palms. You could feel the tension easing slowly, though the whole right side of his back still felt harder than it should. “You should’ve said something.”
“You noticed anyway.” “That isn’t really the point.” Minho’s thumbs moved absently over your ankles. You pressed lower along his shoulder blade. He exhaled and let his head rest back against your knee for a second. There was something very Minho about the fact that he would quietly carry an aching shoulder around for two days and then act vaguely surprised when somebody noticed. You bent slightly. “Better?”
“Yeah.” “Actually?” “Actually.”
You continued for another minute. Then realised you weren’t really massaging anymore. Your hands had slowed. One rested at the back of his neck, thumb moving idly over his skin while Minho’s fingers traced the side of your ankle. He noticed before you did. Minho turned. He shifted onto his knees between your legs, open shirt still hanging around his arms. You looked at him. Minho’s hand slid from your ankle to your calf. You caught the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. The first kiss was soft. He stayed against your mouth for a moment, then kissed you again, one hand moving to your waist as you shifted closer to the edge of the sofa. There was no hurry. You could still feel the heat of his skin beneath your palms. Minho kissed you slowly, then along the corner of your mouth, his thumb moving under the hem of your top. You smiled when he followed you as you pulled back for a breath. “Hi.” Minho looked at you. “Hi.”
“You’re very close.” “You did that.” “Did I?”
His answer was another kiss. The phone disappeared somewhere between the cushions when Minho moved up onto the sofa. One knee settled between yours, his weight careful even as the kiss deepened. You pushed his shirt farther from his shoulders. Minho’s hand moved beneath your top, warm across your back. “You still smell like rehearsal,” you murmured when his mouth moved to your jaw. “I showered.” “I know.”
“Then stop complaining.” “I’m not complaining.” Minho looked up. You tightened your legs around him. “That’s what I thought.”
You pulled him back down before he could get smug about it. His hand moved higher beneath your shirt, then stopped when his fingers reached the edge of your bra. He looked at you. You nodded. Minho caught the hem of your top and pulled it over your head. It landed somewhere beside the coffee table. For a moment, he simply looked. Heat crept over your chest. “Don’t.” “What?” “You’re making me self-conscious.”
His expression softened. Minho bent and kissed the skin just beneath your collarbone. “My pretty girl,” he murmured. It was quiet enough that it felt more like something that had slipped out than something he’d meant to say. You threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled him back up to your mouth. The lock turned. At first, your brain didn’t place the sound. Then the latch moved. The front door opened. Minho lifted his head. Your sister stepped into the apartment. She stopped. Her eyes went straight to the sofa: Minho’s shirt open, your top on the floor, your bare shoulders. For one second, she didn’t look embarrassed. She looked pleased. “I knew it.” The words slipped out before she seemed to realise she’d said them. Minho moved immediately. He reached behind him, caught the throw from the back of the sofa and pulled it around you. His own shirt stayed open, half hanging from one shoulder. He didn’t even look down. You sat upright, clutching the throw closed. “What the hell are you doing?” Your sister’s face rearranged itself. “I knocked.”
“No, you didn’t.” “I did. You obviously couldn’t hear me.” “You used a key.”
She was still holding it. Minho found your top on the floor and passed it beneath the throw. You pushed your arms into it, but the fabric caught awkwardly behind you. “Wait,” he said quietly. He freed it, pulled the back down properly and straightened the strap twisted near your shoulder. Your sister watched his hands. “I thought Seungmin was your boyfriend.” You stood, keeping the throw around your shoulders. “Where did you get the key?” The question wrong-footed her for a second. “Mom had it.”
“Mom keeps my spare. She didn’t give it to you.” “She asked me to bring your mail over.” “So you took it.”
“I borrowed it. Don’t make it sound like I broke in.” “You let yourself into my apartment.” “I knocked first.”
“No, you didn’t.” Your sister shifted the folder tucked beneath her arm. “You weren’t answering. I wasn’t going to stand in the hallway forever when I had a key.” “You didn’t have a key. Mom had a key.”
“Oh my God, you know what I mean.” “No, actually, I don’t.” Minho stepped beside you. He wasn’t in front of you, wasn’t trying to take the conversation from you. He just stood close, his anger obvious in the tightness around his mouth. “You don’t use someone’s spare because they don’t answer,” he said.
Your sister looked at him briefly. “This is between me and her.” “You walked in while we were half dressed.” “I said I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry,” you said. “You said you knew it.” She blinked. “I was shocked.” “No. You looked happy.” “That’s ridiculous.”
“I saw it,” Minho said. Your sister’s eyes moved to him. “Of course you’d say that.” Minho didn’t bother answering. You held your hand out. “Give me the key.” Her fingers closed around it. “It belongs to Mom.” “It opens my front door.”
“Are you seriously going to pretend that’s the important thing here?” “Yes.” She stared at you. Then the satisfaction came back. “What about Seungmin?”
“What about him?” “He deserves to know what you’re doing.” Your stomach turned, not because of what she thought she’d discovered, but because she sounded so pleased to be saying it. “What Seungmin knows about my life is none of your business.”
“You’re cheating on him.” Minho’s jaw tightened. You kept your hand out. “Give me the damn key.” “You’re not even going to deny it?”
“I’m not discussing my relationship with you.” “That’s convenient.” “No, convenient is stealing my spare and then standing in my living room acting like you’re doing somebody a favour.”
“I didn’t steal anything.” “You took it without asking me.” “I was bringing you something for Mom.”
“Then you could’ve left it outside.” Your sister laughed once, short and irritated. “You always do this. Someone says something you don’t like and suddenly the whole conversation becomes about what they did wrong.” You looked at the key. “This conversation is about what you did wrong.”
“I knocked.” “Stop saying that.” “I did.”
“You didn’t.” Minho shifted slightly beside you. His hand hovered near your back but didn’t touch. “She’s asked for the key,” he said. “Give it back.” Your sister looked at him and then, finally, seemed to register that his shirt was still hanging open. “You haven’t even bothered fixing your own clothes.”
Minho followed her gaze as though he’d forgotten. “I was more concerned about her.” Your sister’s mouth tightened. “Exactly.” You frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“She doesn’t even have to ask.” Your sister gestured between you and Minho, irritation making her less careful now. “You’re fixing her clothes, telling me what to do in my own sister’s apartment—” “It isn’t your apartment,” Minho said. “And he helped because you walked in while I was undressed,” you added. “Why is that somehow a problem?” “I didn’t say it was.”
“You’re clearly bothered by it.” “All of you just… do whatever she wants.” There was the smallest pause. Minho gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “You used a key you weren’t supposed to have and somehow she’s the controlling one.”
“I didn’t say controlling.” “You didn’t have to.” Your sister looked at you again. “You have Seungmin wrapped around your finger. I’m not going to stand there and watch him get made an idiot of.”
That landed differently. You stared at her. “You want him embarrassed.” Her expression changed. “What?” “You do. That’s why you looked so fucking happy when you came in. You’ve been waiting for something you can run and tell him.”
“I’m trying to protect him.” “You barely know him.” “I know enough.”
“No. You’ve decided what he thinks without ever asking him.” Her mouth tightened. “I know he deserves better than this.” Minho went very still beside you. You held your hand out again. “Key.” Your sister didn’t move. “Now.”
For another second, she looked as though she might keep arguing. Then she slapped it into your palm. “Mom will want it back.” “Mom can ask me.” “You’re really going to change the locks because I came in once?”
“Yes.” “That’s insane.” “Then it won’t affect you.”
Your sister pulled her coat closed and gathered the folder against herself. The fake sweetness returned, though not as smoothly as before. “I genuinely didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” “You meant to come inside without permission.” “I knocked.”
“For fuck’s sake.” You crossed to the door and opened it. “Leave.” She stood there for another moment. Then her eyes flicked towards Minho again. That pleased look returned. “I’m going to tell Seungmin exactly what I saw.”
“Go ahead.” “You think he won’t care?” “I think you should make sure you tell him how you got in.”
Her face hardened. “I hope you’re this calm when he finds out.” You shut the door. The lock clicked. You put the chain across as well, harder than you meant to. For a few seconds, you stood there with the key pressed into your palm. The apartment felt strangely quiet. Minho stayed near the sofa. He didn’t come up behind you or put his hands on you without asking. He waited until you turned around. Your top was twisted slightly, one strap still sitting wrong. Minho lifted one hand. “Can I fix that?” You looked down and nodded. He came closer, freed the fabric at your back and pulled it down properly. His fingers straightened the strap at your shoulder, quick and careful. Then he stepped away. You looked at his chest. “Your shirt.”
Minho glanced down as if he’d only just remembered. “Right.” He pulled it back onto both shoulders and fastened a couple of buttons without much attention. “She looked happy.” “I know.”
“She didn’t even try to hide it at first.” Minho’s jaw shifted. You started pacing before you really meant to, the key still in your hand. “And now she’s going to message Seungmin with some dramatic shit about how sorry she is to be the one telling him. She’ll leave out the key. She’ll say she knocked. She’ll say I got aggressive when she tried to talk to me.” “She probably will.”
“She always does that.” You turned near the kitchen. “She does something completely out of line, then if I get angry, suddenly that’s the part everyone’s meant to focus on.” Minho let you talk. You stopped and looked at the door again. “I want the lock changed.” “Okay.”
“I know she gave the key back. She probably hasn’t copied it. I don’t think she’s going to start creeping in here every night or anything. She’s my sister, not some random psycho.” You rubbed your thumb over the edge of the key. “I just don’t want to hear something at the door and wonder if she can still get in.” “That’s enough reason.” “It feels dramatic.”
“She used it.” You looked at him. Minho picked up his phone. “Want me to find someone?” “Yeah. Please.”
He sat beside you while he searched, showed you the company before calling and explained the situation simply: a family member had used a spare key without permission, you had the key back, and you wanted the cylinder changed. There was a same-evening callout. The price made you pull a face. Minho covered the bottom of the phone. “They can come in about ninety minutes. Tomorrow between eight and ten is less than half.” You looked at the chain. “Tomorrow. We have the key.” “And I’m staying.”
He booked the morning appointment. Your phone was on the table. Four messages waited from your sister. You didn’t open them. “I should call Seungmin before she does.” Minho sat beside you. “Yeah.” You called. Seungmin answered quickly. “Hi. Did you eat? I was going to—” “Minnie.”
He stopped. You heard a rustle at his end, as though he’d sat up properly. “What happened?” “My sister came over.” “Again?”
“She let herself in.” There was a pause. “What do you mean, she let herself in?” “She took Mom’s spare key. Minho and I were on the sofa, and the door just opened.”
“She—what the hell?” His voice came closer to the phone. “Is she still there?” “No. I got the key back and made her leave. The chain’s on, and someone’s changing the lock tomorrow.” “Okay.” Seungmin breathed out, but the tension stayed in his voice. “Are you all right?”
“I’m pissed off.” “Yeah. Obviously.” He was quiet for a second. “Did she scare you?” “No. Not like that. She’s still my sister.” You looked towards the locked door. “It just feels gross knowing she thought she could walk in because I hadn’t answered her.”
“I know.” His answer came more softly. “That would piss me off too. The key’s definitely back?” “It’s here.” “And Minho’s staying?”
“Yeah.” “Good.” He didn’t add anything about you needing somebody there. You both knew that wasn’t what he meant. You told him what happened in pieces: the excuse about bringing your mail, the way she’d kept insisting she knocked, and the pleased look she hadn’t managed to hide when she saw you and Minho together. “She said she knew it,” you told him.
“Knew what?” “That I was cheating on you.” Seungmin went quiet. “With Minho?”
“Apparently.” “The Minho you told me you were picking up for your date?” “She doesn’t know that.”
“I know, I just…” A short laugh escaped him, more disbelief than amusement. “She really thinks she’s caught you sneaking around with Minho.” “It would be funny if she hadn’t looked so happy.” The laugh disappeared. “She was that pleased?”
“Yeah.” You heard him shift again. When he spoke, his voice was lower. “That’s fucked up.” You heard a vibration against your cheek with another message. Almost immediately, Seungmin said, “She’s texting me.” “What did she say?”
He read silently for a few seconds. “She says she’s sorry to be the one telling me, but she found you with Minho and thinks there are things I deserve to know.” Another pause. “Nothing about the key.” “Of course not.” “She says you became aggressive when she tried to talk to you.” His voice sharpened. “And now she wants to know whether I’m alone.”
“She wants to tell you properly.” “Yeah, apparently I need to be sitting down for the devastating news that you kissed Minho.” You laughed despite yourself, though it didn’t last long. Seungmin exhaled. “I started replying.”
“What did you write?” “I haven’t sent it.” “That wasn’t what I asked.”
He hesitated. “It starts with ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’” “Seungminniee” “It gets worse.”
“Maybe save it for tomorrow.” “Probably.” You could hear him tapping his fingers against something. “She keeps talking to me like I’m stupid. Like she knows more about my own relationship than I do.” “I know.”
“And she used me to threaten you.” “That was the first thing she said after she walked in.” For a moment, neither of you spoke. Minho moved quietly in the kitchen behind you, cupboard doors opening and closing without any attempt to listen in. Seungmin asked, “Do you want me to come over?”
“No. Minho’s staying.” “Okay. I wasn’t trying to make it into a whole thing. I just wanted to ask.” “I know, Minnie.”
He was quiet again, then said, “I hate that she looked happy.” That was the part underneath all his anger. You could hear it now. “I know.” “She didn’t care whether it would hurt me. She wanted it to.”
“Yeah.” “And she wanted you frightened of me finding out.” Seungmin let out a slow breath. “I’m not replying tonight. I’ll tell her tomorrow not to contact me about you again, when I can say it without calling her every name I know.” “That might take a while.”
You smiled, resting your head against the back of the sofa. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked. “A bit.” “Good. Don’t read whatever else she sends. She’ll only rewrite the whole night until she’s the victim.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” “And text me when the locksmith’s been.” “I will.”
Another pause settled between you, easier this time. “I love you,” Seungmin said. “I love you too.” “And tell Minho I love him as well.”
You looked towards the kitchen. Minho was putting the cake onto a plate, his shirt still only half buttoned. “I will.” “Okay. Call me if you need me.” “I know.”
You stayed on the line for another few seconds before hanging up. Minho looked over when you lowered the phone, but he didn’t ask what had been said. “Seungminnie says he loves you.” His expression softened. “I love him too.” Then he held out the plate of cake. You looked at it. “I thought that was for tomorrow.” “It was.”
You took the fork he held out. You ate the cake straight from the container, shoulders touching. It was a little too sweet. You ate more than Minho anyway. After a while, he lifted his hand towards your face and stopped before touching you. “Can I?” You nodded. Minho tucked your hair behind your ear and left his palm against the side of your neck. You leaned into it. Neither of you tried to restart what had been interrupted. When you were finished, Minho put the empty container on the coffee table and held one arm out without saying anything. You moved under it and settled against his side. ౨ৎ Minho had his eyes closed in three of the four pictures. Jisung took this as a personal insult. “You did that on purpose,” he said, holding the strip beneath the weak light outside the booth. His mask had slipped below his chin, and he was still pink from laughing through the last picture. “There’s no way you blinked three times.” Minho took the strip from him and looked at it. “The flash was bright.”
“It was the same flash every time.” “Exactly.” “That doesn’t explain anything.”
You leaned between them to see. Jisung looked delighted in the first photograph, even though only half his face had made it into frame. You were sitting partly across Minho’s lap because the booth had clearly been designed for two people with a much less complicated dating life. Minho looked asleep. In the second, Jisung had managed to fit properly and Minho’s eyes were still closed. The third was the only decent one. Minho’s arm was around your waist, Jisung’s cheek pressed against yours, and all three of you were looking at the camera. The last had been ruined by you. Jisung had kissed your cheek just as the countdown started. You’d clutched Minho’s sleeve, leaned closer to them both and whispered, with considerably more drama than the situation required, “What if Seungmin catches us?” Jisung had broken first. The picture had caught him folding forward against your shoulder, your mouth open because you were trying not to laugh and Minho looking directly into the camera with the beginning of a smile he hadn’t managed to hide. “That one’s the best,” you said. “I look stupid.”
“You always say that when you’re laughing.” “I don’t.” Minho held the strip just out of Jisung’s reach when he tried to take it back. “You do.”
Jisung looked between you. “Why are you both against me?” You looped your arm through his. “We’re not. We’re having an affair.” That made him laugh again, though he tried to bury it by pressing his mouth against the top of your head. It had been eleven days since your sister had used your mother’s spare key to let herself into your apartment. Eleven days had been long enough for the immediate fury to wear down into something flatter and less consuming. You were still angry when you thought about the door opening, and you still checked the new lock sometimes after you’d already turned it. Mostly, though, you had stopped giving your sister the amount of thought she clearly believed she deserved. She had spent those eleven days trying to reach Seungmin. He had spent them avoiding her with increasingly little subtlety. The first few messages had gone unanswered. When she started calling, he blocked her number. Then she turned up at JYP claiming she needed to speak to him about a private family emergency. Reception had called upstairs. Seungmin had told them there was no emergency and that he did not want to see her. She had returned two days later. The second time, security had already been given her name and labled her a sasaeng.
Jisung had told you over dinner that Seungmin stayed in one of the smaller recording rooms until somebody confirmed she had left the building. Seungmin had described this to you later as having some work to finish, but Jisung said the work had mostly involved refreshing the lobby camera and asking Chan whether a baseball cap would make him less recognisable if he used the side exit. You had laughed hard enough that Seungmin hung up on you. He called back thirty seconds later because he still wanted to know what you were doing that evening. Tonight, he was at your apartment while you were out with Minho and Jisung. He’d had a late schedule near your neighbourhood and gone there afterwards, letting himself in with the new key you’d given him two days after the lock was changed. The photo booth had been Jisung’s idea. The restaurant afterwards had been Minho’s, mostly because he knew somewhere nearby with private rooms and food until late. By the time you sat down, Jisung had already put the photograph into the clear back of his phone case. “You said you looked stupid,” you pointed out. “I do.”
“So why are you keeping it?” He placed his phone facedown on the table. “I paid for it.” Minho, who had paid the other half before either of you realised what he was doing, opened the menu and ignored both of you. The room was small enough that your knees kept touching beneath the table. Jisung sat beside you, one leg pressed along yours, while Minho sat opposite. He had taken his cap off but left his hair flattened around the edges, and when you reached across to fix one side, he caught your wrist and kissed your palm before letting you go. The date had nothing to do with your sister for most of the evening.
Jisung talked about a song he’d been working on and the part he kept changing even though nobody else thought there was anything wrong with it. You asked whether he actually disliked it or whether he had listened to it so many times that he could no longer tell. “That’s the problem,” he said, dragging one of the side dishes closer. “I liked it yesterday. This morning it sounded obvious.” “What does obvious sound like?” He paused with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “Like I knew what was coming.”
“You wrote it.” “I know, but I don’t want it to feel like that.” You understood what he meant without understanding anything technical about what he might change. “Maybe stop listening to it tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to work.” Minho looked up from his bowl. Jisung noticed. “I wasn’t.” “You brought your laptop.”
“It’s in the car.” “You brought it on the date.” Jisung looked at you for support. You took a piece of food from his plate. “I think you should leave it in the car.” His hand came down over yours before you could get away. “That was mine.”
“You weren’t eating it.” “I was talking.” “You can’t reserve food by looking at it.”
Minho reached over and took the other half while Jisung was still holding your wrist. Jisung stared at the empty plate. Neither of you admitted anything. Conversation moved on. Minho showed you a video his mother had sent of one of the cats refusing to step around a paper bag. Jisung tried to argue that the cat was displaying excellent instincts. You told them about an elderly man in the convenience store earlier who had spent several minutes asking an employee whether a particular packet of sweets was too spicy, then bought three when she said no. “Maybe they were for someone else,” Minho said. “He opened one before he left.” “So?”
“He ate six while standing beside the till.” Jisung nodded as though this confirmed something. “He needed to be sure.” “For who?”
“The other two packets.” You looked at him. He smiled and leaned his shoulder into yours. Seungmin messaged halfway through the meal. Are you bringing food back or am I allowed to eat the ice cream? You picked up your phone and showed Jisung. “He can’t eat that,” Jisung said immediately. “I wanted some.” “You’re here.”
“I’ll want it later.” Minho took a drink, watching the argument without involving himself. You replied: Touch it and I’m changing the locks again. Seungmin’s answer came almost immediately. You gave me a key. Not immunity. The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then came back. Bring chips. You smiled and put the phone down. Your own phone buzzed again. You expected Seungmin. It was your sister. For a second, you considered leaving it unopened. She had sent several messages since the key incident, most of them variations on I was trying to help and you’ve completely overreacted. You hadn’t answered any of them. The preview showed Seungmin’s name. You opened it. I know he’s at your apartment. I’m telling him tonight. He deserves to know what you’ve been doing. You stared at the screen. Another message arrived before you could decide whether you were irritated or simply tired. Once I tell him, he’s going to be so angry with you he’ll come straight to me. I probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Your mouth fell open. Jisung noticed first. “What?”
You read it again, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something less deranged. They didn’t. “What the fuck?” Minho’s attention moved from Jisung’s hands to your face. “What happened?” You turned the phone towards them. Jisung leaned close enough that his hair brushed your cheek. His eyes moved over the first message, then the second. He went very still. Minho reached across and took the phone when Jisung failed to move. For several seconds, none of you spoke. The nerve of it hit first. Your sister was outside your home again, talking about your boyfriend as though he were something she could collect once she’d successfully disposed of you. Then the rest of the message caught up. You laughed. It came out once, sharp and completely involuntary.
Jisung looked at you, then back at the phone. “She thinks Seungmin’s going to fuck her?” “Apparently.” He read the message one more time. His brows drew together, not with amusement so much as genuine confusion. “He literally asked you to fuck him after me last week.”
You put a hand over your mouth. That made it worse. Jisung was not trying to be funny. He was simply supplying information your sister had failed to account for. Minho returned your phone to the table. “Is she outside the apartment now?” The laughter thinned. You looked at the first message again. “It sounds like it.” “She shouldn’t be there.” “No.”
Jisung’s hand settled on your thigh. “Seungmin won’t let her in.” “I know.” That wasn’t what bothered you. You could picture her in the corridor, speaking softly through the door while Seungmin stood on the other side trying to get her to leave. She had already turned up at his workplace twice. She had already taken a key. Being ignored had not embarrassed her into stopping. It had made her more determined. Minho was reaching for his jacket before you said anything. “I’ll drive you.”
You nodded. There was no argument about finishing dinner or waiting to see whether she went away. Jisung gathered your things while Minho dealt with the bill. You sent Seungmin a quick message as you followed them out. Are you okay? His name appeared on your screen before you reached the lift. He was calling. You answered with the phone against your ear. “Hi.” “She won’t leave.” Seungmin sounded more annoyed than frightened. There was a strange hollowness behind his voice, and it took you a moment to realise he was standing in the hallway on his side of the door. “Have you spoken to her?”
“Through the door. I told her you aren’t here and she needs to go.” You stepped into the lift with Minho and Jisung. “What did she say?” “That she knows you’re not there. Apparently that’s why she came.” His voice dropped slightly. “Now she keeps asking me to open the door so she can tell me something before you get back.”
“She messaged me.” “I guessed.” The lift doors closed. Minho pressed the button for the car park while Jisung stood close at your other side, his hand brushing yours. “She says you’ve been stopping me from talking to her,” Seungmin continued. “I told her I blocked her myself. She said you probably made me.” You shut your eyes briefly. “Of course she did.”
“I asked how you could make me block her when you didn’t know she’d messaged the first time.” “What did she say?” “Nothing. Then she started again about needing to tell me the truth.”
The lift reached the car park. Minho took the keys from his pocket and walked quickly without making the situation feel like an emergency. “We’re coming back now,” you said. “Maybe fifteen minutes.” “Okay.” “She sent me what she wants to tell you.”
There was a pause. “The Minho thing?” “Yeah, but there was another message after that.” “What did she say?”
You glanced at Jisung. He was already biting the inside of his cheek. You read the message aloud. By the time you reached the end, Seungmin had gone completely silent. Minho unlocked the car. You got into the passenger seat while Jisung climbed into the back. “Minnie?” “I’m here.” “You went quiet.”
“I don’t understand why she thinks that would happen.” You pressed your lips together. Seungmin continued before you could answer. “Even if I thought you’d cheated on me, why would I immediately sleep with your sister?” “I don’t know.”
“And why does she think I’d be that angry?” You looked through the windscreen as Minho started the engine. There was another knock faintly audible through his phone. The amusement dropped away. Your sister’s voice followed, blurred by the door but recognisable. “Seungmin? I know she’s probably told you not to answer me, but you need to hear this from someone who actually cares about you.” Seungmin exhaled through his nose. “She’s doing that every couple of minutes.”
“Don’t open it.” “I’m not going to.” Minho pulled out of the car park. “Are the neighbours out there?”
“Not yet.” “We’ll be there soon.” “Okay.” His voice softened slightly. “Drive carefully.”
“I’m not driving.” “I know. Tell Minho.” “I’m sure he heard.”
Minho’s hand came briefly from the wheel to squeeze your knee before returning. “I’ll stay on the phone,” you said. “You don’t have to.” “I know.”
He didn’t argue again. The rest of the journey passed with the phone against your ear. You and Seungmin spoke only occasionally. He told you when your sister knocked again. You told him when you were five minutes away. Jisung leaned forward once to pass you the bottle of water from the side pocket, then sat back without trying to join the conversation. When Minho pulled up outside your building, Seungmin said he could hear a car pulling up. “That might be us.” “Okay.” “I’m hanging up now.”
“Call back if it isn’t.” You smiled despite yourself. “I will.” Minho parked near the entrance. Jisung was already undoing his seat belt. “You don’t need to come up,” you told him. He stopped. “We can wait outside.”
“That’ll make it worse.” “I know.” He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the belt. “I just don’t like her being there.” “Neither do I.”
Minho switched off the engine and turned towards you. “Text when she leaves.” “I will.” “And if you want us back, call.”
You nodded. Jisung reached between the seats and caught the back of your neck, pulling you close enough to kiss your temple. “Don’t let her say anything stupid about you.” “That might be difficult.” “You know what I mean.”
You did. You reached back and squeezed his wrist, then leaned across the centre console to kiss Minho. His hand came briefly to your jaw. Minho waited until you were inside the lobby before starting the car again. The lift took too long. By the time the doors opened on your floor, you could hear your sister speaking. Her voice was low and patient, carrying just far enough along the corridor. “I’m not blaming you for any of this, Seungmin. I know what she’s like. I just think you should let me explain before she gets back and makes everything sound different.” You walked around the corner. She stood outside your apartment with her coat still on and her phone in one hand. Her expression changed when she saw you—not guilt, exactly. More like irritation at having been interrupted before she got what she wanted. Then the sweetness returned. “Thank God. He won’t open the door.” “I know.”
“I’ve been trying to tell him I’m not here to cause trouble.” “You’ve been told to leave.” “I only need five minutes.”
The door stayed closed behind her. Your sister glanced towards it, then lowered her voice as though the two of you were suddenly sharing something private. “I think he’s scared of how you’ll react if he speaks to me.” You stared at her. She genuinely seemed to believe it. The lift moved somewhere behind you. A door opened further along the corridor, and you heard somebody’s television before it closed again. You did not want the next part happening out here. You stepped past your sister and unlocked the door. Her face brightened with quiet triumph. “Inside,” you said. “You’re saying whatever you came to say, and then you’re leaving.” She followed before you could change your mind. Seungmin was standing near the end of the hallway. He had changed after work into grey sweatpants and a dark sweatshirt. His hair was soft around his forehead, and the television was paused behind him. He looked tired, irritated and entirely unlike the furious, sexually aggressive man your sister had constructed in her head. His eyes went to you first. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” You closed the door and turned the lock, then stayed beside it. Your sister looked between you. “Could I speak to him alone?” “No.”
“I wasn’t asking you.” Seungmin’s expression barely changed. “I already told you no.” She turned towards him fully. “You don’t know what she’s done.” “Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t.” She took a small step closer, not enough to invade his space but enough to make her intention obvious. “I saw her with Minho. They were half dressed. She’s been lying to you.” Seungmin glanced at you. Not for an explanation. It was closer to disbelief that this was the revelation she had spent nearly two weeks trying to deliver. “I know she was with Minho.” Your sister’s face changed. “She told you.”
“I knew before she went to get him.” “No.” She gave a short laugh, as though he had misunderstood his own sentence. “I mean I saw them together. It wasn’t friendly.” “I know.”
Her eyes moved to you, then back to him. “And you’re just okay with that?” Seungmin’s mouth tightened. “It isn’t your business.” “I’m trying to stop you being humiliated.” “I’m not humiliated.”
“You don’t have to pretend because she’s here.” “I’m not pretending.” Your sister looked at you again. “Can you give us one minute?”
“No.” “She’s not keeping me here,” Seungmin said before your sister could turn that into something else. “I don’t want to talk to you alone.” “You’ve never even given me the chance.”
“I’ve had your messages.” “She must have said something to you.” “She didn’t know you’d contacted me the first time.”
Your sister’s fingers tightened around her phone. Seungmin continued, still calm. “I blocked you. I told reception not to let you upstairs. Nobody made me do that.” The flat went quiet for a moment. Your sister’s expression hardened before she managed to soften it again. “You don’t know what she’s like when you aren’t around.” A laugh nearly escaped you, but there was nothing funny in her face now. “She was on a date tonight,” your sister said. “With him again, I assume.” Seungmin answered without hesitation. “With Minho and Jisung,” Seungmin replied. She stared at him. You hadn’t expected him to say it quite so plainly. He didn’t elaborate. Your sister looked at you as though the answer had confirmed something worse than she had prepared herself for. “Jisung too?” You folded your arms. “You came here to tell Seungmin I was with Minho. He knows. You’ve told him. You can go now.”
“No. What does that mean?” “It means what happens in our relationship isn’t your business.” “Relationship?” Her gaze moved between you and Seungmin again. “What, all of you?”
Neither of you answered. She understood enough from the silence. “Oh my God.” Seungmin shifted closer to you, not protectively and not as a performance. He simply seemed done with standing across the room from you while your sister examined both of you. She noticed. “So you just let her do this?” His face changed then. “I don’t let her do anything.”
“You know what I mean.” “No, I don’t.” “She’s sleeping with other men.”
“She isn’t lying to me.” “That doesn’t make it normal.” “We didn’t ask what you thought.”
Your sister’s voice sharpened. “You’re really standing there pretending you’re fine with being passed around between all of them?” The sentence was directed at you, but she kept glancing at Seungmin as though waiting for him to flinch. The word landed harder than you expected. Not because it described anything real. It didn’t. There was no version of your relationship in which you were an object being handed from one person to another. Still, she had chosen it carefully. She wanted you to feel cheap. For one ugly second, you did. Seungmin moved before you spoke. “Don’t talk to her like that.” Your sister’s brows lifted. “I’m saying what everyone else would think.”
“You don’t know what anyone else thinks.” “I know what it looks like.” “You know what you wanted it to look like,” you said.
She turned to you. “You were happy when you walked in on me and Minho. You didn’t look worried about Seungmin. You looked pleased.” “I was shocked.” “You said you knew it.”
“Because I did.” “No. You thought you’d finally found something you could use.” Her face flushed. “I was trying to protect him.”
“You told me he’d come straight to you.” The room went still. Your sister’s eyes flicked towards Seungmin. You took out your phone, though you didn’t need to show her the message. She knew exactly what she had written. “You said he’d be so angry with me that he’d sleep with you tonight.” “I was upset.”
“About what?” She looked at Seungmin again. “About seeing someone treated like this.” Seungmin’s expression had gone flat. “You don’t know me at all,” he said.
“I know you deserve someone who respects you.” “You keep saying that like you’re talking about me. You aren’t.” “I came all this way because nobody else was going to tell you.”
“I already knew.” “And you’re fine with it because she’s convinced you this is what you want.” Seungmin stared at her for a moment. Then he shook his head. “You thought I’d be angry with her and come to you.” His voice stayed even, which somehow made your sister look more unsettled. “I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know how you’d feel if you understood everything.” “I understand enough.” “She’s standing right there.”
“I told you to leave before she got here.” Your sister’s mouth closed. It was the first thing that seemed to reach her. For nearly two weeks, she had apparently imagined you intercepting messages, controlling Seungmin’s decisions and keeping him away from her. The possibility that he had heard everything she wanted to say and still rejected her had never been allowed into the fantasy. She recovered badly. “You’re letting her make a fool of you.” “I’m not.”
“You have no pride.” “That isn’t concern.” “I’m trying to help you.”
“No,” Seungmin said. “You’re trying to make me want something I don’t want.” Your sister’s eyes sharpened. “And what do you want? To be one of however many men she has wrapped around her finger?” The hurt from before was still there, but now it was joined by something steadier. “Stop talking about them.” She ignored you. “Minho was fixing your clothes while he couldn’t even be bothered to button his own shirt. Jisung was practically hanging off you the last time I saw him. He looked like he needed you to tell him what to do next.”
“Enough.” You unfolded your arms. “You don’t get to talk about them.” “I’m saying what everyone can see.”
“No. You’re saying what bothers you.” You stepped away from the door, closing some of the distance between you. “Jisung being soft bothers you. Seungmin not wanting to control me bothers you. Anything that doesn’t fit whatever miserable idea you have of how men are supposed to act makes you angry.” “That isn’t what I said.” “It’s exactly what you said.”
“You like them like that because it means you can do whatever you want.” “No.” “All of them running around after you, buying you things, fixing your clothes, doing whatever you say—”
“You stole a key to my home.” Her mouth snapped shut. “You took pictures of me without permission. You messaged my boyfriend behind my back. You turned up at his workplace more than once after he ignored you, and now you’ve come here because you thought you could make him leave me.” “I came because you were lying to him.”
“I wasn’t.” “You expect me to believe all of them are fine with this?” “I don’t care what you believe.”
“You think they all actually want you?” There it was. It came out before she could smooth it over. You watched her realise. The question hurt more than the other insults because it was closer to the centre of what she meant. Not disgust at the relationship. Disbelief that you could be loved inside it. You let the silence sit. Then you said, “That’s what you can’t stand.” Her face tightened. “Don’t flatter yourself.” “You don’t care that I’m with them. You care that they’re with me.”
The sentence came out more quietly than you expected. Your sister laughed, but there was no sweetness left in it. “Why would I be jealous of being passed between eight men?” Seungmin’s hand found yours. You held on. “You thought he’d choose you,” you said. “You said it yourself.” “I never said that.” “You said he’d come straight to you.”
“I meant he’d need someone.” “You meant you.” She looked at Seungmin. He did not look away. “I would never treat you the way she does,” your sister said.
Seungmin’s fingers tightened around yours. “You keep talking like this ends with me choosing you.” Her expression flickered. He continued before she could deny it. “It doesn’t.” “You only think that because you don’t understand what she’s doing.”
“Even if I had been angry with her, I still wouldn’t have gone to you.” The words were simple. They did not need anything added to them. Your sister’s face went blank for a second. Then the cruelty returned, stripped of almost everything polite. “Fine. Stay here and let her make you pathetic. Maybe that’s what you like.” Seungmin’s jaw tightened. You moved towards the door. “That’s enough.”
Your sister looked at you. “You’re throwing me out because I told the truth?” “I’m making you leave because you came here to hurt people.” “You can’t keep protecting him from reality.”
“I’m not protecting him from you. He doesn’t want you.” “You don’t speak for him.” “I’ve told you myself,” Seungmin said.
She ignored him. That, more than anything, made the whole thing obvious. She had spent weeks claiming to care about what Seungmin wanted. Now that he was saying it plainly, she refused to hear him. You opened the door. “Go home.” She stayed where she was. “So that’s it?” “For tonight, yes.”
“You’re just going to pretend none of this is sick?” “I’m not discussing my relationship with you again.” “And you think you can tell me where I’m allowed to go?”
“I’m telling you not to come back to this apartment. Don’t go to his work . Stop messaging Seungmin. He doesn’t want to speak to you.” Her gaze flicked towards him one last time. Seungmin stood beside you, still holding your hand. Your sister pulled her coat closer around herself. “You’ll regret this when it all falls apart.” Neither of you answered. She walked past you into the corridor. You closed the door before she reached the lift. For a moment, your hand stayed on the lock. Then you turned it. The apartment was quiet again. Seungmin didn’t speak immediately. He stood a few feet away, watching you without crowding you. You looked towards the paused television. “What were you watching?”
His eyebrows lifted slightly, as though that wasn’t the question he had expected. “I don’t know anymore.” You let out a breath that turned into something close to a laugh. Seungmin came nearer. “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” You rubbed at the place between your brows. “Mostly. She’s such an asshole.”
“She is.” “The stuff about Jisung and the boys pissed me off more than anything else.” “I know.”
“She barely knows them.” “She barely knows me.” You looked at him. He was still annoyed. You could see it in the line of his mouth and the way his thumb kept moving over the side of your hand. But he wasn’t broken by what she had said. He wasn’t questioning himself or looking for reassurance that he was masculine enough. He was simply angry that she had been cruel to people he loved. Your phone buzzed. Minho. Is she gone? You replied that she was. Jisung’s message appeared before you had put the phone away. are you both okay Three dots appeared immediately. did she expose you You looked at Seungmin. He noticed. “What?”
“Jisung wants to know whether she exposed me.” Seungmin’s expression flattened. “He’s enjoying this too much.” “He was worried.”
“He can be worried without typing like that.” You smiled and sent Jisung a message. Minho replied next. Do you want us to come back? You considered it, then looked around the apartment. The television was still paused. A paper bag sat open on the coffee table beside a drink with melted ice. Seungmin’s shoes were by the door. His charger was already plugged in beside the sofa. You were okay. No. We’re fine. Drive home safely. Minho sent a heart. Jisung sent four. Seungmin sat down on the sofa, then reached for your phone when you held it out. “What?” “You haven’t seen the actual message.”
“I heard it.” “That’s different.” He took the phone reluctantly. You watched his eyes move over the first message. Then the second. His face went blank. For several seconds, he said nothing. You sat beside him. “Well?” Seungmin locked the phone and handed it back. “She really doesn’t know anything about me.”
That made you laugh again. He looked offended. “Why is that funny?” “It isn’t.” “You’re laughing.”
“I’m laughing at her.” “That’s not better.” You leaned into his shoulder. “Jisung said something worse.” Seungmin immediately looked suspicious. “What did he say?”
You told him. He closed his eyes. Then he picked up the nearest cushion, put it over his face and stayed like that while you laughed against his side. When he finally lowered it, his ears were pink. “He didn’t need to say that in front of everyone.” “Everyone lready knew.” “That isn’t the point.”
You rested your head against him. “He wasn’t wrong.” Seungmin gave you a long look, then reached for the paper bag on the table. The fries inside had gone cold. He ate one anyway. “You wanted us to bring chips,” you said. “These aren’t chips.” “They’re close.”
You took one from the bag. It was terrible. You ate the rest of it. Seungmin found the remote beneath the cushion and restarted the episode from the beginning. You tucked your feet beneath his thigh, and he rested one hand around your ankle while the opening credits play
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